


Gilded City

by WickedWitchofCupcakes



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/F, Hannigram - Freeform, Journalists, M/M, New York City, Slow Burn, newsies au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-05-29 16:02:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15076700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WickedWitchofCupcakes/pseuds/WickedWitchofCupcakes
Summary: Hannibal Lecter is the owner and Editor-in-Chief of New York City's top newspaper. Will Graham is a newsie struggling to survive. Their paths are forever intertwined when the newsies go on strike and Will is chosen to lead them. Corrupt politicians, undercover reporters, seedy police officers, mobsters, and of course, cannibalism. *Inspired by the broadway musical Newsies





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this idea in the works for a really long time and I'm SUPER excited to finally be posting it. The work is already finished, so I'm planning on posting a chapter a week. THAT BEING SAID, I'm always open to suggestions, comments, questions, concerns or ideas. Also, I highly suggest giving the Newsies soundtrack a listen at any point during your enjoyment of this fan fiction because I definitely drew a lot of inspiration from it. I hope you enjoy this piece!
> 
> Also!!!! I didn't want to tag this as Graphic Violence because it doesn't get super graphic by any means but there is a little bit of getting roughed up. So just thought I would mention that in case that's not what you're about. But I promise its really not a lot.

**Streets of New York City, 1885**

 

Will Graham was thankful for the cool night air after a day of hustling papers on the hot, cramped streets of the Lower East Side. Even though the city was a little quieter now, Will found himself unable to sleep. Instead, he was looking up at the stars. Tonight the sky was a little cloudy, but the moon was full, bright, and mesmerizing.

“Looking at the sky again?” A girl’s voice asked.

“It helps me think,” Will explained, looking back briefly at Abigail. He could see that she had just woken up because her eyes were still half closed. The dirt smeared on her face and grit entangled in her hair made her look sickly, yet she still looked healthier now than when Will had first met her two years ago. He had taken her in, and fancied himself almost her brother. Still, his heart broke that he couldn’t do more for her than feed her and find her a roof to sleep on.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked.

“Getting out of this cursed city,” Will explained.

“And going to Santa Fe?” Abigail said, her voice flat with exasperation. Will smiled.

“This same moon shines over the great, open deserts of Santa Fe,” Will said. “You can walk for miles and not meet another soul. You forge your own life, and you’re your own man. Not some rich businessman’s slave.”

Abigail stood next to Will at the edge of the roof. They looked up at the night sky together. She still had her blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

“You should go back to sleep,” Will said. “It’s a long day tomorrow, and you worked a long day today.”

“Why do you hate New York?” Abigail asked.

“If I tell you, will you go back to sleep?” Will asked. Abigail nodded.

“My father came to this city with me after my mother died,” Will explained. “He’d heard it was a place of opportunity where a man can work hard and become rich, that the streets were paved of gold. After a few years of working like a dog and coming home at night to a cramped, dark, disease-ridden tenement...he died.”

“Is that when you became a newsie?” Abigail asked. Will shook his head.

“First I was sent to an orphanage, where I was barely fed and the other kids hated me. After a few months of that, I ran away. I almost died of starvation before I was hired as a newsie. This city killed my only family and nearly killed me.”

Abigail put her hand on Will’s.

“But now I’m your family,” she said. Will smiled.

“That’s true,” he said.

“Will you take me to Santa Fe with you, when you go?” Abigail asked.

“Of course,” Will said. Abigail looked up at the moon.

“What’s Santa Fe like?” she asked. Will followed her gaze, then thought for a few minutes.

“I’ve never been there,” he said. “But I can see it clear as day. It’s clean and green. There are more trees than even Central Park. And the buildings aren’t brick like here. They’re made of clay. No tenements.”

“What do people do there?” she asked.

“Whatever they want,” Will said. “Farm, build railroads, raise livestock, own a saloon, paint landscapes…”

Abigail laughed.

“What?” Will asked.

“It sounds like a fairy tale,” she said.

“You can laugh, but it’s true,” he said. “You’ll see when we get there.”

Abigail yawned. Will felt his own eyes start to grow heavy.

“You should go back to sleep, I really mean it,” he said gently. Abigail sighed, but nodded and started back to the other side of the roof, next to where Will’s blanket was.

“Goodnight,” she murmured.

“Goodnight,” Will replied. He watched her settled back down, then grow still. His gaze shifted back up to the sky. It had cleared a little and now the stars were more visible. He imagined himself far away, in a wide, open grassy field under the same expanse of sky. Santa Fe was out there waiting for him, he just had to get there.

  


 

Hannibal Lecter was gazing out at the night sky from his 20th floor office window. A stack of papers sat abandoned at his desk, showing that _The New York Gazette_ was currently losing money. He had recalculated the numbers, but his conclusion remained the same. This revelation was initially disturbing; he’d felt secure in his marketing and content for years. Yet it seemed he had underestimated the rise in popularity of _The New York Examiner._

Now he stood staring at the stars and contemplating what qualities _The Examiner_ possessed that his own paper did not. The difference in _The Examiner_ and _The Gazette_ was that _The Gazette_ was a quality newspaper spreading real information, while _The Examiner_ printed sensationalized garbage about scandals concerning politicians, cops, and mobsters.

Hannibal would not sacrifice the quality of content for profits. Something else would have to change until a more permanent solution could be found. He ran the numbers through his head again. He listed the various costs and considered which ones could be lessened. Not ink costs, they were already using the cheapest brand. Lessening the number of papers sold would only worsen the situation. Couldn’t raise the price of paper, people would just be even less inclined to buy it.

Then a spark of brilliance came to him. The consumers wouldn’t pay more for papers, but the newsies who bought them from him and distributed them would. If he raised newspaper prices from 2 cents to 3 cents, his profits would go up. He’d gain even more if he raised it to 4 cents. He made a note to his secretary to instate the change in the morning.

His concentration was broken when there was a knock on his door. His secretary popped her head in.

“The police are here with the newsie who was caught stealing our drafts for _The Examiner_ ,” she explained. “You asked to handle the matter privately and wished the boy brought to you?”

“That is correct,” Hannibal said. “You may tell the police to lead the boy in, and then they may leave. And here is a change I wish to be enacted tomorrow morning. After that you may also go home. It’s rather late and it’s rude enough that I’ve kept you for this long.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said, reading the note that Hannibal handed her. “I’ll make sure our distributors understand this change by tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you,” he said. “Have a nice night.”

She nodded and left. A moment later a boy came into his office. He was a small, skinny thing, caked in dirt.

“Please sit,” Hannibal said. The boy inched forward, his head to the floor. It seemed he was trembling slightly.

“Sir, I’m sorry I stole the newspapers, I shouldn’t of done that, but they’d offered me a lotta money and I wasn’t thinking and-” the boy cried, but Hannibal cut him off by raising his hand.

“What is your name?” he asked. The boy blinked before answering.

“Thomas...sir,” the boy answered.

“Thomas,” Hannibal said with a smile. “You’ve clearly been mislead by _The Examiner_ ,” he said. “They can be sly, convincing people. I’m sure you meant no harm, and only wanted to scrounge a little extra money. Surely, your parents taught you better than this?”

“I don’t have no parents,” the boy mumbled, looking back at the floor. Hannibal waited a moment, as if a new thought had occurred to him.

“Perhaps I can instill some moral values that you have missed out on,” Hannibal said. “Would you care to join me for dinner?”


	2. Chapter 2

It was the noise that first informed Hannibal that something was amiss. New York City was always noisy but it was a chaotic noise. It was filled with people randomly yelling and cars honking to create a chorus of meaningless sound. This new noise was too  _ organized. _ Hannibal was intrigued enough to move to his window to inspect the streets below. There seemed to be some kind of riot occurring outside the gates of  _ The New York Gazette. _ Hannibal understood the situation before his secretary came in. She looked flustered.

“Sir, it seems the newsies are upset about the rise in paper prices,” she explained. She took a pause before continuing, as if contemplating whether or not to deliver the bad news.

“I’m afraid the newsies have gone on strike,” she said. Hannibal frowned and gazed back out the window.

“It’s an intriguing development,” he said. “I would not have thought the newsies capable of such critical thinking and daring.”

The secretary stood silently, unsure what Hannibal wanted her to do. Then he turned back to her. 

“I will phone the police. In the meantime, please send all our security to keep the newsies under control,” Hannibal said. The secretary nodded.

Hannibal moved to his phone and dialed his personal contact at the police department.

“Captain,” Hannibal said. “It seems some of my newsies have gotten a little agitated. I’d greatly appreciate it if you could send some men to get them back under control.”

Hannibal listened to the phone and nodded his head.

“Thank you,” Hannibal said and hung up the phone. He returned to his spot at the window and gazed down patiently.

 

 

* * *

 

 

       “Sir, Captain Crawford is here to meet with you.”

“Yes, please send him in,” Hannibal said to his secretary. He smoothed his suit as Crawford stepped in. Jack took his officer’s cap off as he entered.

       “Mr. Lecter,” he said with a nod.

“Captain Crawford, thank you for your assistance,” Hannibal said. “I take it the newsies have been handled?”

       “You can just call me Jack,” Jack said. 

“Jack,” Hannibal repeated, his tone flat.

Jack smiled for a moment before his face became more solemn. 

“The newsies situation has been temporarily handled,” Jack explained. “They’ve dispersed for the day. I’m sure they will return tomorrow, probably more organized. My suggestion to break this strike is give them what they want. Return the price of the newspapers. These kids’ll easily forgive and forget and go back to doing their jobs.”

“With all due respect officer, I will not give into the newsies’ demands.” Hannibal said. “I think you forget that this is an uneducated class we are dealing with. They are poor, they are hungry. They will be easily broken. We just need to hasten the process.”

Hannibal let his words sink in. Jack opened his mouth to respond, but Hannibal cut him off.

“Do we know who the leader is?” he asked. Jack closed his mouth, then processed Hannibal’s question.

“According to some of the men distributing papers to the newsies, it seems the riot yesterday was instigated by a newsie named Will Graham,” Jack said. Hannibal leaned back in his chair.

“Will Graham?” He asked. “What do we know about him?”

“Nothing,” Jack said. 

Hannibal was quiet again. Then his eyes flicked back to Jack. He stood and made his way around his desk to stand before Jack.

“This situation needs to be handled quickly,” Hannibal said. “Can I count on you to do whatever is necessary to accomplish this?”

Jack’s eyebrows scrunched together as he returned Hannibal’s look.

“Are you implying I use violent force on the newsies? Some of them are only children,” Jack said.

“Children that are making the city a dangerous place,” Hannibal said. “I don’t think you understand the severity of a strike. It brings disorder. Newsies will be wandering the streets, bored and hungry. Those are bad combinations. Furthermore, to be honest with you Jack, I’m not sure how long my company can last under the pressures of this strike. If my company goes under, that’s over a hundred people jobless. Innocent and hardworking people will be put on the streets because you’re afraid to be a little rough. Sometimes people need a little discipline. For their own good. For the city’s own good.”

Jack looked at the ground. Hannibal dissected his expression for a moment before moving to the hidden safe behind a portrait of himself. He removed a stack of cash and placed it on his desk.

“Consider this a donation for your precinct. I’m sure you could accomplish many good projects with that money. New uniforms and equipment for your officers, more officers. You can single-handedly make this city a much safer place” Hannibal said. “And I assure you that you will have the backing of  _ The Gazette _ throughout the entirety of your career.”

Jack’s hand carefully touched the money. His fingers counted the bills.

“If you handle this efficiently, it may even be enough to carry you to Chief of Police someday,” Hannibal said. “Imagine how much good you could do then.”

Jack wrapped his hand around the cash and tucked it into this coat pocket. 

“My secretary will lead you out,” Hannibal said. Jack nodded and turned to the door.

“The city will thank you for this Jack,” Hannibal said, but Jack did not respond.

Hannibal lifted the paper on his desk, preparing to read over the monthly equipment assessment. No sooner had his fingers lifted the paper, then another person stepped into his office. His eyes lifted and he put the paper down.

“Alana,” he said. “Thank you for coming in.”

“It almost wasn’t possible with all the newsies rioting his morning,” she answered. Hannibal’s lips curled.

“That’s why I wanted to see you,” he said. “I want you to drop the story you’re working on right down.”

“The police corruption story?” she asked. “I’ve been working weeks on that and the city needs to know about it. How can we just ignore the bribery and violence-”

“I need you for a more important task,” Hannibal said. “When it’s done perhaps you can return to your story.”

“More important?” Alana asked. “What do you want me to do?”

“Find out about the newsie Will Graham,” Hannibal said. “Use whatever means you feel necessary.”

“And why do we care about Will Graham?” Alana asked.

“He started this strike,” Hannibal said. “He will be the one to finish it.”


	3. Chapter 3

Will was thinking to himself how strange it was that although he was backstage at one of the most popular theatres in the city, it was dead silent. That’s probably because all the actors were still sleeping in from the performance the night before. Will was thankful that his actress friend had been nice enough to let him hideout here and that there was no one around. 

He was currently nursing his swollen right eye with a frozen piece of meat. That’s why he didn’t see her come in.

“Rough morning?”

Will didn’t recognize the voice. He knew it belonged to a woman and whoever she was, her voice was comforting. Will turned his good eye to see the speaker. His mouth suddenly felt dry and his face flushed.

“Yes,” he said. The woman gently touched her fingers to his face.

“That’s going to leave a nasty bruise,” she said softly.

“I’m not sure how much this piece of meat will help me,” Will said. “Um, how did you get in here?”

“I’m an actress here” the woman said. 

“No you’re not,” Will said. “You don’t act like an actress and I know all the actresses who work here. So who are you and how did you get in here?”

She stared at Will, trying to hide her surprise.

“You’re correct. I’m not an actress, I’m a reporter,” she said.

Will tensed.

“Who do you work for?” he asked. The woman touched Will’s hand.

“Will, don’t worry,” she said. “I’m not here to sell you out to Hannibal Lecter. If I had wanted to, I’d have just told him you and the newsies were hiding out in this old theater. I wouldn’t have come here myself.”

“Who are you?” Will asked.

“My name is Alana Bloom,” she said. “I work for Freddie Lounds. I want to write a story about you and the newsies for her.”

 

 

* * *

 

Hannibal was inspecting the draft for tomorrow’s paper when his secretary informed him that Mr. Mason Verger of the Verger meat-packing industry had arrived. Hannibal marked a typo and circled a poorly written paragraph, then handed her the paper.

“Thank you. Please, send this back to writing with the following corrections,” he explained while straightening his tie. “And please send Mr. Verger in on your way out.”

“Right away, sir,” The secretary answered, then hustled out of the room. 

No sooner had Hannibal sat down at his desk, then Mason Verger came pounding into the room.

“Mr. Hannibal Lecter, owner, executive and chief publisher of  _ New York Gazette _ ,” Mason announced as if Hannibal himself didn’t already know. 

“May I call you Hannibal?” asked Mason, easing himself into a chair across from Hannibal’s desk.

“Mr. Verger,” Hannibal said, “may I ask what the occasion is for your much-anticipated visit?”

“My father, Mr. Lecter, built an empire out of flesh. Turned meat into money, and did it with only his intelligence and perseverance,” Mason said, while rubbing his finger against the golden nameplate that sat on Hannibal’s desk. Hannibal watched his finger smear oils over his name as he continued, “Now it is my turn to continue that great empire. But I don’t want to just continue it, I want to expand it.”

“Mr. Verger, I hope this isn’t about that article published a few weeks ago concerning the contents of some of your company’s products and sanitation of your factories…” Hannibal said.

“Not at all,” Mason said, leaning back in his chair and clasping his hands together on his stomach. “No, this is about my empire conquering new lands. My empire shall be even more powerful, and everyone knows that the way to power is through politics.”

“I never took you for a politician,” Hannibal commented. Mason laughed.

“Neither did I,” he said. “However, Governor elections are coming up and I thought no better time than the present to try something new. Especially because it seems my only opponent is that fool Chilton up for reelection. That’s where you come in.”

“You are about to ask me if I will print articles praising you and portraying your opponent as a buffoon unfit to run New York,” Hannibal said. “And I’m afraid to say that my paper holds more integrity than that. Perhaps you might have better luck over at  _ The New York Examiner _ .”

“ _ The New York Examiner _ already accepted my offer,” Mason said. “I was hoping to have a monopoly by buying out both major newspapers.”

“I hope you were intending on offering me more than you did  _ The Examiner _ ,” Hannibal said, with a slight grin. Mason squinted at him for a moment, trying to read his face. Then he searched through his coat pocket, pulled out a fat envelope, and dropped it on Hannibal’s desk. 

“There’s more where that came from,” Mason said, standing. He turned to leave, but added, “Think about my offer. And don’t tell  _ The Examiner  _ how much I gave you.”

With that he slammed the door shut. Hannibal raised his brow at the crudeness of this action, but nonetheless looked over the money a moment later. It was indeed a considerable sum, and all appeared to be authentic cash. He put the envelope in his private safe, hidden behind a portrait of himself.

* * *

 

 

It was barely an hour after Verger left that Frederick Chilton came knocking on Hannibal’s office door. Hannibal opened the door for him and welcomed him as he stepped into the room.

“You know, Hannibal, I’ve always loved your office” Chilton said, quickly making himself at home. “It’s very refined. Although, I’d expect nothing less from you. And the view is just gorgeous, I could stare at it all day.”

“I hope you haven’t come by just to stare at my view,” Hannibal said, his words unenthusiastic. Chilton laughed.

“You’re quite right,” he said. “In fact, I’m here on very important business. I’m sure you’re well aware that I’m running for reelection. I’m not worried, I’ve done a great job this past term and the populace loves me. However, my opponent seems to be gaining a little more popularity than I was anticipating. My intuition tells me that the press will come to play a very important role in this upcoming election-”

“Chilton, you’ve come to make sure that  _ The Gazette _ still supports you?” Hannibal asked. Chilton nodded.

“Yes, not that I ever expected you to go back on your word” he said and pulled out a stack of cash. “I just wanted to remind you that you have a friend in me and that we both have a good deal to gain from my reelection.”

Hannibal’s eyes analyzed the money, then Chilton. His lips inched into a smile as he took the money.

“Consider the election won,” Hannibal said. Chilton smiled. 

“I knew I could count on your help,” Chilton said. He stood and clapped Hannibal on the back.

“And of course, you will be top of the guest list to my reelection  _ soiree _ ,” Chilton said, smiling as he left the office.

As soon as the office door closed, Hannibal’s smile faded. He counted the money and glanced at the portrait on the wall. There was an amused light in his eyes. If both candidates did this much bribery, would it even out into a fair race? 

After locking the money away, Hannibal returned to tomorrow’s draft. He left off on the fourth page. One of the articles caught his eye and he glanced over it. Apparently, there was a certain outlaw going by the name “Red Dragon” that was terrorizing the West. Hannibal raised his eyebrow as he read about how this outlaw was implicated in train and bank robberies, among other crimes including murder. Hannibal put the paper down and knitted his hand together. 

He wondered if the West might actually be more lawless than New York City. Hannibal glanced at his portrait. They were closely matched. Hannibal kept his eye locked on the portrait as he remained deep in thought.


	4. Chapter 4

“Hannibal, I think you should reconsider your tactics,” Alana said. Her hands were squarely on her hips as she stood before Hannibal’s desk.

“Did you fail to find any information on Will Graham?” Hannibal asked. “That’s most unlike you.”

“I found out plenty about him and that’s why I’m telling you we should rethink our plans,” Alana said. “I know you don’t want the company to go under but...this isn’t the way we’re going to save it. Will is...he’s so intelligent. And he’s suffered so much. He and the rest of the newsies. These newsies are on the brink of poverty. Will sleeps on rooftops with a girl he’s basically adopted.”

Alana turned away, her hand to her head.

“Who is the girl?” Hannibal asked. 

“Just a child. An orphan, like most of the newsies,” Alana explained. “Her name is Abigail. It’s so touching how the newsies take care of each other. I don’t see how we could ever convince any of them to betray their friends and break the strike.”

“Why do the newsies rally around Will?” Hannibal asked. Alana was quiet for a moment, gathering her thoughts.

“To be perfectly honest, I’m not sure that Will really wanted to lead the strike,” Alana said. “He’s so quiet and a little odd. But he knows how to get what he wants and he is persistent. I suppose you learn to be persistent when you grow up an orphan on the streets but even so…”

Alana seemed to drift off into her thoughts for a moment. When her attention returned, she looked at Hannibal who had his hands neatly folded in his lap as if he was patiently waiting for her to continue.

“Hannibal, we need to end this strike,” she pleaded. “These newsies are on the verge of starvation already and if we take away more of their income and then let the police savagely beat them, we’re basically delivering a death sentence.”

“Alana,” Hannibal said gently. “As journalists, we are tasked with the challenge of finding and presenting the news in an unbiased manner. We must free ourselves of our emotional colorings that may taint the truth of the information. I believe that you are suffering from such emotional disturbances.”

“There is a difference between separating our biases from the news and having basic human decency,” Alana snapped. Hannibal raised his eyebrow.

“I think we both know your feelings towards Will Graham extend beyond basic human decency,” Hannibal said. Alana froze. 

“I don’t know what you’re implying,” she said. 

“Alana, I’m afraid that this paper needs journalists who will not be compromised by their emotions,” Hannibal said. “Please hand over your notes concerning Will Graham and your police brutality story. Perhaps once this strike is over you will be able to put this situation into perspective and return to  _ The Gazette. _ ”

“You’re firing me?” Alana asked, her voice rising.

“Only temporarily,” Hannibal said. “But that is your choice.”

Alana glared at Hannibal.

“If you won’t help the newsies, I know another paper that would  _ kill _ for first-hand quotes from Will Graham,” Alana spit.

“If you will not hand over your notes, I will have them confiscated as company property,” Hannibal said. Alana’s mouth dropped open. She shook her head and looked away.

When she looked back, she could only stare at the edge of Hannibal’s desk. There was resignation in her face. With a scowl, she reached into her coat and threw down a leather-bound journal.

“You can take my notes,” Alana said. “But I don’t need them to prove that you’ve been taking bribes from Verger and Chilton and bribing the police.”

Before Hannibal could respond, Alana stormed out of his office. Hannibal tapped his pen for a few moments, regretting that he’d have to lose such a good reporter. Sadly, sacrifices always have to be made if you want to be successful. Then he made a note to reach out to his Brooklyn contacts for assistance with a certain volatile ex-employee who could cause him some very big headaches.

 

* * *

 

 

Hannibal’s face was contorted in a deep frown as he examined the weekly earnings of the paper. 

“Sir? Jack is here,” Hannibal’s secretary said. “He says that he has what you asked for.”

Hannibal’s lips stretched into a smile.

“Please, send him in,” Hannibal said. 

He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands neatly in his lap. A moment later, Jack and one of his officers came into the office. The officer was dragging a dirty little girl in, her hands handcuffed. Hannibal’s eyes sparkled with excitement.

“Jack, are handcuffs really necessary?” Hannibal asked. “Miss Abigail is our guest.”

Jack nodded at the officer who unlocked the handcuffs. No sooner did he remove them, than Abigail lunged towards the door. The officer grabbed her arm, pulling her back and causing her to cry out.

“Gentlemen, please,” Hannibal said. He stood and crossed to Abigail. He offered his hand.

“My dear, you must understand that I mean you no harm,” Hannibal said. “I just wish to speak with you. Then you are free to go.”

Abigail gazed up at Hannibal. She glanced back at the officer still tightly gripping her arm. Then she reached out her hand. Hannibal smiled and led her away from the police.

“Jack, thank you for your services,” Hannibal said. “That will be all for now. You can await a phone call from me.”

Jack nodded and led his man out. Abigail didn’t relax until the man was gone. Hannibal leaned against his desk and gave Abigail a moment to admire her surroundings. It was clear from the shine in her eyes that she was impressed, especially with view. She stared out the window but kept a distance.

“How high up are we?” She asked. 

“20 floors,” Hannibal said. Abigail stiffened.

“Is it safe?” she asked. Hannibal laughed.

“Quite safe, I assure you,” Hannibal said. “And a beautiful view too.”

“That is true,” she said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything as beautiful, except for maybe the Statue of Liberty.”

“She is a beautiful statue,” Hannibal said. “She stands proud and strong, knowing that she symbolizes the greatest thing about this city:  _ opportunity.” _

Hannibal moved to stand next to Abigail, who was still lost in the city skyline.

“There is an opportunity for both of us here,” Hannibal said. “We both want the same thing, to end the strike.”

“Then why don’t you lower the price of the newspapers again?” Abigail asked. Hannibal shook his head regretfully.

“I wish it were that easy,” he said. “But fortune has smiled upon us and offered a solution to our problems.”

Hannibal put his hand on Abigail’s shoulder. She looked at his hand and then up at him.

“Abigail, I see in you the daughter I’ve always wanted but never had and as such, I want to help you,” Hannibal said. “I want you to come and live with me. If you are impressed with my office, you must see my dining room. Have you ever seen a chandelier before?”

“A what?” Abigail asked. Hannibal laughed.

“You will not want for anything, I promise,” Hannibal explained. “I’m not often home because I am so busy at the office, but we will have wonderful evenings together when I am.”

“But what about Will?” she asked. Hannibal nodded.

“Will can come and stay with us as well,” he said. “You will never have to work as a newsie again and I will find a more suitable job for Will. We will all live happily together. All you need to do is help me end the strike. It will be easy. All you have to do is go back to work until the other newsies also agree to go back to work. That will only be a few days, I promise.”

Abigail looked away from Hannibal. She frowned intensely at the shorter buildings around them.

“I don’t know if Will would want that,” she said.

“Want to live comfortably? In a real house, not just on a rooftop with only scraps to eat?” Hannibal said. He turned Abigail to face him. “As long as you stay with me, you will never be hungry ever again.”

As Abigail looked at him, her eyes started to well with tears. Hannibal leaned in and hugged her tightly.

“Don’t cry my dear,” Hannibal whispered. “We have each other now.”


	5. Chapter 5

“This is a very interesting story, indeed,” Freddie said. She was leaning all the way back in her chair, her feet resting on her desk. She flipped through the drafts that Alana had given her. Her bright, curly red hair was striking and Alana noticed that she made no effort to pin it back in anyway. Alana stood before Freddie’s desk, her hands clenched into fists as she waited for Freddie to finish reading the articles she’d given her.

“Are you sure your boss won’t mind you giving me these stories?” Freddie asked, raising her eyebrow.

“I’m sure he’ll mind a lot but he’s not my boss anymore so that’s what I’m hoping for,” Alana explained. Freddie smiled at her remark. Then she put down the papers.

“Do you still have your notes from your personal interview with Will Graham?” she asked. Alana frowned.

“No, Hannibal confiscated most of it when he fired me,” Alana said. Freddie pouted.

“That’s too bad,” she said. “Any chance you could manage another interview?”

Alana grimaced.

“The situation has become more complicated,” she explained. “I don’t think Will would trust me anymore and I’m afraid New York City is getting a little dangerous for me. What I really need is some money for these articles so I can take the first train out of town.”

Freddie nodded and looked over the papers again.

“I can offer you $3 for both the police corruption and _The Gazette_ corruption stories. I’ll throw in another 50 cents for the rest of your notes on Will Graham and the strike,” Freddie said. Alana frowned.

“That’s not enough,” she said. “Those are worth at least $3 _each._ ”

“I’m being rather generous considering your situation and the sacrifices you’ve made to give me these. Honestly, neither of these stories are very well written,” Freddie explained.

“Not-? Just because I write real news not sensationalized-” Alana began but Freddie cut her off.

“I also don’t particularly need either of these pieces. I already have an exposé on _The Gazette_ ’s corruption,” she explained. “What I don’t have is an detailed story on the strike, which is exactly what I need to put the final nail in the coffin of _The Gazette._ Isn’t that what you want too?”

“As much as I would love to see Hannibal go under, I’m afraid I may not live to see it if I stay in New York,” Alana said.

Freddie shrugged her shoulders and slid the papers back to Alana.

“My price isn’t changing, so you can take this money or leave it,” she said. “But if you do decide to stay in New York City a little longer, I’ll give you $4 for a story on the strike from the newsies’ perspective. I’ll give you ten more cents for every Will Graham quote you give me. Now, if you excuse me, I have a very important meeting.”

Alana nodded, took the money from Freddie, and led herself out. As she opened the door, a man stepped through. She was taken aback to recognize Mason Verger of the Verger Meat-packing Empire. Suddenly, the realization of what was happening crashed down on Alana. She stared at Freddie in shock and Freddie gave her a farewell wink. Alana’s face contorted in anguish and she quickly left.

She stood outside Freddie’s office collecting herself for a few moments and trying to decide what she should do next. She had maybe a day or two left before Hannibal’s men tracked her down. If she was really careful, she might be able to extend that to three days. Would that be enough to find and convince Will to talk to her again? Would the strike even still be going by then?

“Meeting not go well?” A voice asked.

Alana snapped out of her thoughts and noticed a woman sitting on the waiting bench. The woman was well-dressed and her hair was pulled back neatly. She wore a hat that concealed part of her face. When Alana looked closer, she could see the woman had a black eye. But under the bruises, the woman had sharp and piercing eyes.

“I’m in a bit of a nasty situation and this was my last hope for getting out,” Alana explained.

“In my experience, there are always more opportunities that present themselves than you think. Sometimes unexpectedly,” the woman said. “I’m Margot Verger.”

“Mason’s sister?” Alana asked. The woman nodded. Alana introduced herself.

“It’s not often you see a woman reporter,” Margot said. “That must’ve taken a lot of guts.”

“It certainly took a lot of patience,” Alana said. “And now it seems all my hard work will have been for naught.”

“Why?” Margot asked. Alana sighed.

“I have reason to believe my ex-boss may have hired men to kill me because I threatened to expose his corrupt dealings,” she explained. Margot nodded.

“That’s very brave of you,” she said. “Most people are willing to let injustices slip by if it means protecting their skin.”

“Look where bravery got me,” Alana said.

“What will you do?” Margot asked.

“I’m not completely sure,” Alana said. “I was hoping to scrounge up enough money for a train ticket somewhere far away. If I can get another interview with Will Graham, I think it would be enough. I only need a one-way ticket.”

“I don’t know who Will Graham is, but he must be very interesting if you are willing to bet your life on him,” Margot said. She pulled a piece of paper out of her purse and scribbled some numbers down. “If Will Graham is too hard to find, come find me here. I have a one way ticket to Santa Fe, New Mexico. Train leaves in two days. I’m sure the West has a great need for good journalists and I have a great need for a travel companion.”

Alana gazed at the address, unsure what to make of it. She didn’t know this woman or particularly trust her, especially because she was so closely related to Mason Verger. For all Alana knew, she could have been hired by Hannibal to set up a trap.

“Thank you,” Alana said, tucking the note into her pocket and hoping that she wouldn’t need it.

“Consider it a favor from someone who knows how difficult it can be to escape nasty situations,” Margot said. “Now if I were you, I’d try to find Will Graham. You don’t seem to have much time.”

 

* * *

 

“Will,” Alana pleaded.

“You work for Freddie Lounds?” Will hissed. “Isn't that what you said? It’s strange that I never saw that newsie article in her paper!”

“The situation is complicated,” Alana said.

“And then the police target the closest friend I have and Hannibal convinces her to be a strikebreaker?” Will continued. “I seem to remember mentioning her to you. Well, I hope you’re very proud of the work you’ve done.”

“Will, I never meant for that to happen,” Alana said. “I was trying to _help_ you. Truly. I got _fired_ because I stuck my neck out for you.”

“Now you can know what it feels like to live on the streets,” Will said.

Alana was at a loss for words.

“Get out of here,” Will said. Alana shook her head.

“Please Will, my _life_ is at stake,” she said. “All I need are a few quotes. Just a few words.”

“A lot more lives than just yours are at stake here,” Will said. “I thought you understood that but clearly I was wrong.”

Will turned away, but Alana grabbed him.

“Will, if you won’t talk to me at least _listen,”_ she said. “You can’t go back to _The Gazette_ to protest. You must stay in hiding. Hannibal has already deeply undermined the strike by bringing in strikebreakers. All he needs to do is take down the leader of the strike and its over. He will do whatever it takes, even kill. Please, don’t go back there.”

Will pulled away.

“My life is the only thing I have left to lose,” Will said. “So why not lose it?”

Alana fought back tears as Will walked away from her. She brushed a tear and looked for the address that Margot had given her. It seemed she was out of options.

 

* * *

 

Alana knew it was risky, but she had no other choice but to return one final time to her tenement room. She needed clothing, money and any valuables she could carry. Her door was still locked when she arrived and she quietly entered her apartment, locking the door behind her. Nothing seemed to have been disturbed. It appeared Hannibal’s men hadn’t come yet. That only made her worry more. It meant they were likely on their way.

Alana found her suitcase and started hurling some dresses into it. She threw in her grandmother’s pearl necklace and the cash she’d locked away in a box under the bed.

Then her eyes fell across her typewriter and her face fell. She stood and moved towards her desk. She gazed longingly at it as she brushed her fingers over the familiar keys. She sighed as she thought about how the “e” key liked to stick. Then her eyes lifted as she gazed out the window above her desk. Past the fire escape, there was a view of the bustling street below, usually lined with food stands and filled with people hustling to work at the factories. For a moment, she allowed herself to look out and memorize the view. She knew she’d never see it again.

Alana turned to the closet and rummaged around until she dug out another suitcase. She brought it to her desk and smiled as she placed the typewriter inside. It fit perfectly.

Then there was a knock at the door.

Alana froze and listened.

“Anyone home?” a male voice asked gruffly. Alana didn’t answer. She tiptoed to her other suitcase.

It sounded like there were two voices talking from behind the door. Alana quietly opened the window. She could hear what sounded like someone tinkering with the lock on the door. Alana gently placed the two suitcases through the window. The tinkering continued. She climbed out onto the fire escape. The tinkering stopped and Alana heard the door creak open.

Alana pushed down on the window but it was stuck. Her heart leapt to her throat. She shoved down harder on the window. She could hear the two men searching the other room. Her hands shaking with fear, she slammed down on the window with all her might and it finally moved. Alana jumped down, out of view, just as one of the men entered the room.

Alana bit her lip when she noticed that the window was still open a crack at the bottom. She squeezed herself as close to the wall as possible to remain hidden.

“Looks like she was here recently,” one of the men said.

“I hope we didn’t miss her,” replied the other one. Alana guessed he must’ve also come into the room. “We were supposed to find her alive.”

“Maybe we should wait here for her to come back then?”

“That might be our best shot.”

“Why is the boss so insistent on bringing her in alive? This lady must’ve done something really bad to upset this Lecter guy.”

Alana quietly grabbed her suitcases.

“Didn’t you know?” The other voice said. “Everytime Lecter hired the boss, he asked for his man to be brought in alive. Rumor on the street is that it’s because he _eats_ them.”

Alana froze.

“You’re just fooling around with me,” the first voice said.

“I’m not. Go and ask the boss if you doubt me, but I’m not sure the boss wouldn’t be too happy with your noisy questions,” the voice said. “We’re paid for our discretion.”

The two voices suddenly stopped.

“Did you hear something from the other room?” One of them asked. Alana heard footsteps as they left the room.

She knew this was her opportunity to make a run for it, but her head was spinning. Hannibal _eating people?_ How could it be true?

She grabbed her suitcases and sprinted down the fire escape.

  

* * *

  

A smile lit up Margot’s face when she saw Alana rushing towards her on the railway platform. Her face was rosy and she looked rustled.

“I was beginning to worry you weren’t coming,” Margot said.

“I’m sorry, I got a little...held up at my apartment,” Alana said. “Margot, I learned something terrible.”

“Let’s put your suitcases away and you can tell me all about it,” Margot said, reaching for Alana’s suitcases. Alana grabbed Margot’s hand and squeezed it tightly. Margot was taken back by the fear in Alana’s eyes.

“Hannibal eats people,” Alana said. Margot looked at her for a moment.

“How do you know that?” Margot asked.

“The men who came to kill me were talking about it,” Alana explained. “Hannibal wants to _eat me._ I suppose it’s because I offended him by not following his orders.”

“You believe these two men?” Margot asked.

“It got me thinking and there have been _signs,”_ Alana said. “I knew Hannibal had ties to the mob but I always assumed the mob would kill people for Hannibal. There’s this locked room in the office that I’ve never seen anyone enter or leave. I’ve never been in and I don’t even know what’s in there. Maybe that’s where he kills people? And then there’s the dinner parties he throws. Is it possible that he’s been feeding people to other people?”

Margot touched Alana’s shoulder.

“Alana, listen to yourself,” Margot said. “You’re talking nonsense. Clearly you’ve been very shocked by these two men trying to hurt you, but you’re safe now. This is nothing that you need to worry. We’re leaving this terrible city.”

“But Margot, I need to tell the people about this,” Alana said. “I should stay and find real evidence. Maybe try to get into that locked room. I need to expose him. I’m sure Freddie Lounds would publish anything I come up with.”

Margot’s eyes darkened. Her hand tightened on Alana’s shoulder.

“Alana, you just told me that two men tried to kill you in your home and it was only yesterday that you were telling me how badly you needed to leave the city,” Margot said. “Are you really going to put your life in danger because of some joke that two gangsters made up? This is just shock that’s messing with your brain. I’m offering you a real opportunity here, a _fresh start_. Don’t throw it away on a crazy rumor.”

“But what if he eats more people? What if he eats Will?” Alana asked.

“What does it matter? He’s not eating _you,_ ” Margot said. “Leave Hannibal and this city and every terrible thing in it. Leave it with me.”

Alana looked at Margot.

“What are you running away from?” Alana asked. Margot’s smile was stained with melancholy.

“I’ll tell you on the train,” she said. “Are you coming?”

Alana glanced down at her suitcases, the typewriter weighing her arm down. She knitted her eyebrows together, deep in thought. Then after a moment, she nodded.

“Yes, I’m coming,” she said. Her lips parted into a smile. She was surprised by how suddenly freed she felt. “Where do I put the suitcases?”

Margot smiled, showing her brilliantly white teeth.

“I’ll show you,” she said, taking the suitcases. She grunted.

“My god, Alana, what do you have in here?” Margot asked.

“A typewriter,” Alana said. Margot laughed.

“You’re a true journalist, you know that?” Margot said, then led the way into the train. Alana moved to follow, but paused. She gazed down the railway platform, searching the faces in the crowd. There was an irrational part of her that hoped to see Will, if only to warn him one last time. But, of course, she didn’t see him. She hoped he would be alright.

Margot called out to her and Alana boarded the train, leaving her heavy feelings of foreboding behind.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! School started again for me, so it took some time before I settled in and had time to upload this. But this is my favorite chapter and I hope y'all enjoy it.

The police officers dragged Will through the fancy lobby of  _ The Gazette _ . Perhaps under different circumstances, he would have taken a moment to admire the grandeur of his surroundings. At the current moment, he was focused on the door that Jack’s goons were leading him towards. They opened the door and his heart leapt into his throat. It led to a small metal chamber, barely big enough to fit them. For all he knew it was a torture chamber. Maybe they were planning on trapping him in with no food or water for days.

Will struggled harder against the handcuffs, and desperately tried to reach the front door. But his feet had no traction on the clean marble floor, and there were two of them and only one of him.

As they tried to push him through the door, Will managed to snag his foot on the doorway. It was a small win, but he was able to momentarily stop their progression. That is, until one of them landed a punch in his gut. Will doubled over, and they pulled him fully into the small, metal room. They closed the door behind them and pulled some sort of lever.

The room started to shake and Will cried out.

“Shut up!” One of the officers yelled. “Haven’t you ever been in an elevator before?!”

Will went quiet, but his breathing was still heavy. He’d heard of elevators before. They carried you up and down tall buildings. He never thought he’d ride one, and certainly never under these conditions.

Then a daunting thought came to him: there’d be no escape from the top of a skyscraper. At least, there’d be no easy escape. 

Suddenly, the room stopped shaking. The doors opened and the officers pulled Will out. They were standing in front of a door with the words “Office of Hannibal Lecter, Editor in Chief”. Will steeled himself. He’d finally gotten what he’d wanted all along: a meeting with Hannibal Lecter.

A woman stepped out of the office and told the police officers they could go in. The officers shoved Will forward. He stumbled, but complied. He had some choice words for Mr. Lecter.

His words stuck in his mouth when he entered. The first thing he noticed was that Hannibal Lecter was much younger than he’d thought. Will was assuming he’d be some stuck-up, grandpa with old money and stubborn ways. But he couldn’t have been much older than Will.

Yet the office did suggest someone with a refined taste, not that Will spent any time appreciating the scenery. His eyes did glance briefly at the view through the wide windows behind Hannibal.

Hannibal was sitting at his desk, his hands crossed over a newspaper. Will had a guess which paper it was and whose face was on it. 

Then Will noticed that Hannibal was intensely staring at him. Will locked eyes with him, and tried to determine what the man was thinking. It wasn’t rage, as Will was expecting. Yet it wasn’t stoney or cold, which would’ve been the next obvious choice for intimidating an enemy. Will was definitely this man’s enemy. The man had had Will and his friends beaten, several times. That made it all the stranger why Will could only see curiosity behind his eyes. It made him deeply uncomfortable, because he wasn’t sure if that should ease his worries or increase them.

“You must be William Graham,” Hannibal said, his voice quiet and terrifyingly gentle. 

“Will,” Will said instinctively. Hannibal raised his eyes at this informality. Will noticed that he almost looked pleased to be calling Will by something so casual, almost implying the level of friends. That had not been what Will had been attempting to do.

Hannibal glanced at the police officers.

“You are Jack’s?” he asked. They nodded their heads.

“Very good,” Hannibal said. “Thank you for your services, and please thank Jack for his. You may leave now.”

The two men stayed.

“And when do we get paid for our services?” One of the officers asked. Hannibal shifted his head slightly.

“I promise that you will get paid all that is due to you,” Hannibal said. The officers looked at each other for a moment, then let go of Will. One of them dropped the key to the handcuff on Hannibal’s desk.

“Keep an eye on this one,” the police officer said, pointing his thumb towards Will. “He’s a wily one.”

Hannibal glanced at Will.

“Thank you for the advice,” Hannibal said. “I don’t think he’ll be any trouble.”

Will narrowed his eyes. Hannibal felt much too nonchalant for the situation. 

After the officers left, there was silence in the room as Hannibal and Will studied each other. It seemed to Will like Hannibal almost seemed to be smirking at the edges of his mouth. Perhaps he had plans to torture Will. Then Will had the sudden thought that maybe Hannibal had something to do with the disappeared newsies?

Will brushed the absurd thought away. He had to focus on determining what he could do to convince Hannibal to lower the price of papers for newsies. Although, maybe he should start by convincing Hannibal to let him go. Hannibal spoke before Will even had the chance.

“You’ve caused me quite a bit of trouble…” he said, but not with even a hint of anger in his tone. There was only a slight twinge of bemusement.

“I could say the same of you,” Will said. “I’m sure the newsies who are starving trying to pay for your papers would have some things to say to you as well.”

Hannibal’s eyes glimmered, but he didn’t respond. Will kept his face a mask of anger. Why was Hannibal treating him like a close confidant?

Then Hannibal stood up from his desk. Will held his ground, even though his uneasiness increased as Hannibal walked towards him. Hannibal reached his hand up to touch the dark bruise around Will’s blackened eye. Will stepped back before he could touch his skin. For a moment, Will could have sworn that Hannibal looked hurt.

“Did those police officers do this to you?” Hannibal asked. Will frowned.

“Yes,” Will said. “Because you paid them to.”

“I paid them to bring you here alive,” Hannibal explained. “I never gave them the authority to injure you.”

Will scoffed. 

“And did you ask them to not injure the other newsies as well?” Will asked, putting as much venom into his words as he could conjure, which was a considerable amount.

“Why are you fighting for the newsies?” Hannibal asked. 

“Because no one else will,” he answered. 

“And are they fighting for you?” Hannibal asked. 

Will stumbled for an answer to this unexpected question, but he didn’t want to give Hannibal the satisfaction of stumping him.

“Of course,” he answered sharply. Hannibal raised an eyebrow, calling Will’s bluff. 

“I suppose we shall see whether or not they fight to free you soon enough,” Hannibal said. “Perhaps they will take up your cause without you or perhaps they will meekly surrender.”

“They’ll keep fighting,” Will said. “It’s their cause as much as it is mine. They’re also the ones starving.”

“That may be true,” Hannibal said. “But lambs have trouble fighting for a cause without a wolf to spearhead them.”

“Are you calling me a wolf?” Will asked, bewildered and angry. “That implies that I had selfish goals and that I used them. I only ever wanted to give us rights.”

Hannibal smiled, but didn’t answer for a moment. Perhaps he wanted Will to find an answer himself, before Hannibal gave him one. It worked, and Will had a nasty foreboding about Hannibal’s words before he spoke them.

“So often do we confuse our own intentions,” he said. “We justify our actions when we really perform such deeds for ourselves. When life has failed us- when God has failed us- we want to fight back. To take a meaningful stab at life and show that we are not as submissive as it thinks we are. So we fight against the universe, as you did.”

Will was silent, not trusting himself to speak. Unfortunately, he hadn’t anticipated that this would give Hannibal fuel to continue.

“I want to be open and honest with you Will,” he said. “You interest me. And I hope that you find me equally interesting-”

“This isn’t about you and me,” Will hissed. “This is about the newsies.”

“You wish to negotiate?” Hannibal asked. 

Will took a breath in, getting his thoughts quickly under control. This had been what he was preparing for.

“You will drop the price of papers back down to 2 cents,” Will said. “You will allow the newsies to form an official union, and you will ban the use of violence against newsies by any of your affiliates.”

“And what will you give me?” Hannibal asked, his smile returning. That smile twisted Will’s insides.

“I will end the strike,” Will said. Hannibal chuckled to himself.

“The strike is already over,” he said. “The strike was over when those brutes apprehended you. Although, if we’re being honest, I think we both know the strike was over when the strikebreaker-what was her name? Ah yes, Abigail- when Abigail agreed to my terms.”

Will bit his tongue. He refused to prove to Hannibal how badly that had hurt the newsies, and him.

“You two were close, if I’m correct?” Hannibal asked. Will looked him in the eye.

“No,” he answered as cooly as he could managed. Hannibal’s watched him closely. Will couldn’t tell if he had guessed Will’s lie. Then his face shifted from concentration to cool determination.

“Apologies for the confusion,” he said. “Either way, she spoke much about you. She was a clever girl and she took my deal. I’m going to offer you a deal as well, and I hope you will consider it.”

“Screw your deal and screw you,” Will said. 

Hannibal pursed his lips.

“I had an inclination that you’d feel this way,” he said. “Luckily for us both, I am a patient man.”

Hannibal walked over to the door, and held it open for Will. 

“If you would please follow me,” Hannibal said. Will did, but glanced back and noticed that the handcuff key was gone.

Together they walked to the elevator. Will was feeling perhaps even more apprehensive about entering than the first time, but he didn’t want Hannibal to notice. He entered without a fight. Hannibal stepped into the elevator, and stood unnecessarily close to Will. This made Will exceedingly uncomfortable, but he realized it’d make it easier to pickpocket him. He glanced down at Hannibal pockets, searching for which one had the outline of a key in it. The elevator was getting close to the floor Hannibal had pressed and Will was running out of time.

While Hannibal was rambling about the current state of the newspaper, Will slowly slipped his hand into Hannibal’s front left pocket, which was the pocket closest to him. It was a gamble, but it would be worth it if he got the key. He silently thanked Price for teaching him how to properly pickpocket as he gently felt about Hannibal’s pocket for anything cold and metallic. 

Then his finger brushed against something sharp, and he realized it was a scalpel. Why did Hannibal had a scalpel? Before Hannibal could notice him, Will took his hand back out. Hannibal was still talking. Will looked down and noticed with a start that his finger was bleeding. He cursed in his head, and hid his bloody finger in his vest.

“If you wanted the key, all you had to do was ask,” Hannibal said, stopping mid-sentence to look amusedly at Will. He pulled out the key from his from right chest pocket. Will felt his face blushing and he wanted to run far away, but he was trapped in an elevator with Hannibal. Reluctantly, he held up his hands. Hannibal deftly turned the key and unlocked the handcuffs. He took them off Will’s wrists, his hands gently brushed against Will’s reddened skin. Will felt his blush deepen.

Then the elevator opened and Will quickly stepped out. He realized that they must be in the basement of the building, because there were no windows and the room was filled with printing presses. He was glad that it was dark, because his blush still hadn’t disappeared completely.

“These are some of our printing presses” Hannibal said, admiring one of the printing presses. He ran his hand over the wood. “Fine machines. Very elegant, in an American way.”

“Why did you bring me here?” Will asked, also looking at one of the printing presses.

He leaned against the wood frame as he inspected the headline laid out for tomorrow:  _ Newsies Strike Over.  _ The knot in his stomach twisted tighter. He realized that Hannibal hadn’t answered his question. Will was about to ask him again, when suddenly he felt a heavy presence behind him.

Then he felt the familiar cool, metal against his wrist and he realized with a flash of anger that Hannibal had just handcuffed him to the printing press.

“Why did you do that? Let me go,” Will said. “You said I only need to ask.”

“I will let you go,” Hannibal said. “After you consider my deal. But, as I said, I am a patient man. I propose that we put your newsies up to the test and see if they do indeed rally to free you.”

Will was about to protest, but he realized that doing so would only prove Hannibal’s point that Will had no faith in the newsies.

“If they come for me, then you must let me go,” Will said.

“And if they don’t?” Hannibal asked, his smile revealing his wolf-like teeth and excitement at their little game. Will swallowed, having a terrible feeling he’d regret this.

“Then I will listen to your deal,” he said. “I won’t take it, but I’ll listen to it.”

Hannibal smiled, a terrifyingly confident smile.

“Very well,” he said. “I accept your terms.”

He started to leave, but turned back when he reached the elevator.

“Goodnight, Will Graham,” he said, with a bow. “Until tomorrow.”

Will was left alone in the dark, with only printing presses. He sat down, and tried to get his thoughts under control. The meeting hadn’t been anything like he’d been anticipating. It had been worse than anything he could’ve imagined. It certainly hadn’t ended well for him. Hannibal confused him and made him very uncomfortable.

The worse part though, is that deep down, he wasn’t sure if what he felt for Hannibal was hate. He wanted- very, very badly- to hate him, but he didn’t. He didn’t want to admit it, but the man was curious.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes. Please forgive me for taking so long to post this last chapter. I hope you enjoy it and thanks so much for reading to the end of my (kinda random) AU. If you did like, please leave a comment and kudos :). If you didn't like it, that's chill too I ain't got no hard feelings. If you want a sequel (which I kinda have in the works) lemma know.

Although Will knew he must be close to the noisy streets of the city, none of the sound penetrated the thick basement walls. It was frustrating because he couldn’t tell whether or not the newsies had stormed the building or if they were even protesting at all outside the building. He had to believe that they were, but as the night continued he felt his confidence slipping. After a night of restlessness, the silence was weighing down upon him.

He was startled by the sound of the elevator descending. Will knew who it carried and he suddenly felt like the floor had disappeared beneath him. After everything he’d sacrificed, the abandonment by the newsies hurt more than the beating the officers had given him the night before. He tried to regain all the hate and anger he’d felt, but after a long night of contemplating if all the pain the strike had caused was worth it, he felt only empty.

Will found himself not thinking of the strike, but rather his dream of starting again in Santa Fe. Somehow, the dream seemed even further away now than it once was. Will didn’t think he’d ever leave this basement again, let alone New York. He felt a wave of disillusionment. In the end, his strike was as futile as his life would be. 

Hannibal stepped out of the elevator looking as refined as he had yesterday. Yet Will sensed a change in him. The night before he had seemed investigatory, now he walked with a more direct purpose. It was clear that he’d decided on something, but Will had no idea what.

“Good morning, Will,” Hannibal said. Will was silent, not even letting himself look at Hannibal. Even so, Will could hear the smugness in Hannibal’s voice.

“You look rather tired,” Hannibal said. “I’d be sorry to hear that you hadn’t slept at all - staying awake, hoping against hope that your newsies would prove faithful.”

Hannibal paused, as if preparing to deliver truly remorseful news. For a moment Will actually believed that perhaps the newsies  _ had  _ kept the strike alive. Then he made the mistake of looking up at Hannibal, and seeing the look of pity on his face. He looked away, his face twisting with the sting of betrayal.

“The newsies are gathered at the gates to deliver papers,” Hannibal said. “The strike is over.”

Will felt deflated-all his energy had dissipated into the stale air of the basement. Then he felt the bite of betrayal and a flare of anger at the newsies for letting him sacrifice everything again and again, nearly making a martyr of himself, while they hid every time a whiff of danger was in the air.

“We’ll have to leave soon to allow these newspapers to be delivered,” Hannibal said, then changed his remorseful tone to one of anticipation. “Before we do, however, you must listen to my deal.”

Will was silent, but Hannibal could tell he was paying attention.

“I’m going to allow you to leave this building, unharmed and in one piece,” he said, watching as Will’s eyebrows scrunched with confusion.

“I will allow you to work as a newsie again,” Hannibal continued, “but you shall never start or partake in another strike again or I will not be as merciful as I am today. However, I think we both know that this isn’t really what you want. You are not a small man, Will. This city is choking you, and it will kill you if you let it.”

“And how do you suppose I stop it from doing that?” Will asked, his words biting with bitterness. The corners of Hannibal’s lips turned up.

“I’ve been in the newspaper business for my entire young adult life, and I’ve mastered it to the point of boredom. There’s nowhere left for me to go except into politics, and I have never had a taste for such things,” Hannibal explained. “So I am starting a new business venture out west. I’d like you to join me.”

“Why?” Will asked, his shock clear in his wide, green eyes. “I’ve only ever been a newsie. I can barely even read. What use could you have of me?”

“I see great potential in you, Will,” Hannibal said, his smile leaking into his eyes. “I see in you a wolf.”

Will looked away from Hannibal, and Hannibal could see he was deep in thought. Still not looking at Hannibal, Will asked, “What kind of business?”

“A dirty business,” Hannibal said. “That’s why I need someone not afraid to get their hands dirty. Someone with unique ambition.”

“And that’s me?” Will asked. Hannibal nodded.

Will fell silent again. Hannibal pulled the handcuff key out from his pocket and handed it to him. Will looked at it for a long moment before unlocking the handcuffs, standing up, and dusting himself off. He stood before Hannibal and locked eyes with him.

“What’s our first stop?” he asked. Hannibal’s smile broadened.

“I need to pick up some funding for our venture from our office,” he said, then reached into his coat pocket and pulled out two thin strips of papers. “And then, two tickets to Santa Fe in the New Mexico Territory.”


End file.
